


slowly, with ease

by sushishorts



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Character Study, Crowley Was Raphael Before He Fell (Good Omens), M/M, They save the world, and crowley waits, aziraphale forgets, raphael falls, they fall in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 13:53:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sushishorts/pseuds/sushishorts
Summary: “You will fall, much like the others, and Aziraphale is to stay here for his mission.”Raphael sighed in relief.“Don’t seem so relieved, this is a punishment, after all,” She said calmly. “Aziraphale will forget everything about you, and will remember nothing before your fall. Unless he chooses you, first and foremost, he will not recall anything about you.”In which romance between angels were forbidden, and yet Raphael fell for Aziraphale.





	slowly, with ease

**Author's Note:**

> hello again!
> 
> this is what happens when you bastardize the book, the series, the radio drama, and catholicism in general. it's an amalgamation of elements from all forms of good omens, plus some sprinkling of history and catholic bullshit, just because i can't resist.
> 
> i wrote this on and off for three weeks, more or less. finished it when i was bedridden bc of my back pain and was running on redbull caffeine.
> 
> this was originally an earthian AU (manga by yun kouga), but i was like, huh. nope, the whole plus and minus checkers is too much. took the taboo and the court scene, and absolutely ran with it. 
> 
> many, many, _many_ thanks to [skree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skree) for encouraging me when i absolutely hated myself for not being able to make progress with this and for helping me edit this. :)

\--

He remembered when Aziraphale came to life.

It was Her will, of course. In the midst of Her ineffable plan and what it entails, exactly, She was careful to keep most details to Herself, knowing well that deviation from it would cause limitless turmoil in the known universe. It had to go exactly as She planned.

So it confused Raphael why Aziraphale was needed.

On the day of the principality’s creation, Gabriel stood beside Raphael with a glib, almost bored, expression. While divinity and holiness were inherent in angels, it never transcended to anything else entirely. Gabriel was best known for his work ethic and overall indifference regarding everything else, so Raphael wasn’t entirely surprised.

Michael, on the other hand, watched in utter fascination. Uriel gave her own blessings as Aziraphale stood before the Almighty. Raphael stood behind them all, shielding his own interest behind their wings.

“I can feel your gaze, Raphael,” said Gabriel mid-yawn. Michael giggled.

“Curiosity never leads to anything good,” Michael said with an amused smile. “I know it’s been a while since we’ve had this affair altogether, but try to keep your interest to a minimum. He is to be my soldier, after all.” She looks at the build of the angel. “A swordsman, I think.”

“Of course,” Raphael nods. “Except for the fact that he is not needed.”

“The Almighty is creating something massive, so She needs all the soldiers she could get,” Gabriel disclosed in a hushed whisper. “I believe She plans on creating another line of entities.”

“If She needs soldiers to fight for Her cause, then why is this the only soldier we’ve gotten for the past half century? A principality, nonetheless?” Raphael asks. Uriel gapes at him.

“Best not question Her decisions, Raphael,” Michael warns. “Look, he’s waking up.”

Aziraphale, as he was named by the Almighty, stirred from his slumber and woke with a comfortable yawn. When he realized that he was literally on God’s hands, and he sat up in attention almost immediately.

God, in all Her unknown majesty, proceeded on telling Aziraphale all there was to know about Heaven as a newborn angel. He smiled and nodded as needed, his attention fully on Her for the most part. Suddenly, his eyes glowed white, and the four Archangels looked up to the blinding light, almost on cue.

This was no ordinary soldier, apparently. She was giving him a mission.

(Missions were given and forgotten almost immediately, although it is extremely rare for an angel to have one. Most of the time, it is the angel’s job to figure it out as their lifetime passed. Archangels have them too, though their jurisdiction is vaster than most angels’.)

“An angel with a mission. Haven’t had that in a while,” Gabriel mused.

“Has She told you about Her Plan?” Raphael asked.

“She would never disclose such an important matter to any of us,” Gabriel answered with a shrug, already turning his back on the ceremony. Raphael stepped out of his way. “But surely, Aziraphale is needed.” He stopped in front of Raphael. “You may want to keep an eye on that one.”

It was natural to be curious for a few days, Raphael defended internally, every time his gaze wandered to where the new angel was. Aziraphale was new and had a weird habit of wandering where he shouldn’t be, especially in the Archangels’ offices. It was his first week, after all.

It didn’t help that Aziraphale was probably the softest-looking angel Raphael had ever seen. In complete contrast to his sharp angles and cheekbones, Aziraphale was a bundle of blonde hair, blue eyes, and soft smiles. It almost seemed like a cliché, the way his soft curls rested just perfectly on his head, and the way his eyes gleamed ever blue.

It wasn’t a surprise when Raphael found out that Aziraphale was true to who he is, kindness and generosity flowing through his divine veins. As expected of an angel, of course, but he was rather timid for someone so important, even among his fellow rank. He kept to himself mostly, and watched in idle curiosity as the others soared over the clouds to do as She says.

Raphael tried to ignore the bubbling interest in his gut and walked on to his station.

He was the Archangel of healing, after all, and he was extremely good at what he does, especially now that the Fallen grew stronger by the day. The realm was protected by Her divine power, of course, but with the upcoming Plan, there’s no saying what Hell knew about it.

(When the war broke out the first time Satan fell from Heaven, there had been multiple casualties. Hellfire was the only thing that could destroy angels that weren’t Her doing, and Raphael had seen the worst injuries during the siege. By the time the war was over, there was no one who could cure the gruesome effects of hellfire as well as he does.

So when anything other than demon-spawned injuries came his way, he was usually intrigued.)

“I’m afraid I do not know the protocol for injuries quite yet,” the angel told him, his fingers fiddling together in an anxious panic. “I apologize for my incompetence, Archangel Raphael—“

“None of that,” Raphael shushed him, and gestured him to come closer. “Aziraphale, yes?”

He nodded. “Am I to report where the injuries are from?”

_ It would be perilous to give in to curiosity, _ he thought. He raised Aziraphale’s chin up with his hand and inspected the looming bruise on the side of his mouth. _ But I’ve never seen an intentional attack before. Not on angels, anyway. _

“Not if it was caused by the Fallen, no, but that’s impossible now, since the war is over. This, however…”

Raphael thumbed the bruise. He was scared of how warm Aziraphale is. The angel winced in pain, but kept his mouth shut.

“Should I be concerned?” Raphael decided to ask. Aziraphale visibly panicked.

“No, not at all, it was all a misunderstanding—“

“Misunderstandings caused Lucifer to Fall, you know,” Raphael let him go with an indignant sigh. He waved a hand over the bruise, and it disappeared in a blink. He knew the pain would have subsided as well, but he tested anyway, poking at where the bruise was just moments ago. “You don’t suppose this one might cause another scene, do you?”

“I—I didn’t—“

Raphael’s gaze flashes to the principality, who seemed guilty enough to have caused ruckus. Raphael sighed; there was really no point in scaring him. But, he thought quickly, afraid he might be heard by anyone, flustered looks good on him.

“Apologies,” Raphael said. “That was beneath me.” Aziraphale only ducked his head and said nothing. “I suggest you keep out of their way from now on, young one.”

“I worry,” Aziraphale suddenly said, and it showed in his face entirely. “They emitted a strange aura when they—“

Raphael raised a brow and waited. Aziraphale stopped, seeming to be complete unsure as to how to explain the feeling. He was a newborn, after all.

“Jealousy,” Raphael supplied. Aziraphale’s face contorted into an unpleasant frown. “It is the passion that stemmed out of the perversion of love. If you sensed it, then they probably do not have much left before they Fall then.”

“Can you not save them?”

It was an interesting question, but not something he thought Aziraphale would understand entirely.

When God created angels, they were, as She willed, perfect and intelligent. Simply put, their purpose was to do Her bidding as servants and messengers, so their will were hotwired into doing as they are told. Angels exude goodness and perfection as beings created by the Almighty, and any protruding quality made them susceptible to the lack of repentance once they Fall.

The Fallen were given a choice. They chose to reject Her and Her reign.

(Evil began when the first angel fell. Raphael wasn’t entirely sure if She planned it, either. He believed the Almighty was getting bored, in the end.)

Raphael shrugged. “If they wanted to be saved, they would have come to me as soon as they realized. We are depleting in numbers, and Hell’s forces grow stronger. The Almighty refuses to create angels anymore ever since the first Fall, so avoiding them altogether have become priority for us Archangels, especially Gabriel.” He walked back to his seat and sighed. “You were the first in half a century.”

“I did not mean to be a part of their doubt for the Lord,” Aziraphale said sadly.

“That is not your fault,” Raphael assured. “Their judgment has been clouded for ages now. It did not start with you.”

He knew the angel wouldn’t believe him.

“Are you alright?” Raphael figured he’d ask, anyway.

It surprised him when Aziraphale perked up. “Yes, ah! Where are my manners,” Aziraphale started with a bright smile. “Thank you so much, Raphael. I was afraid that I would not be able to keep a proper conversation with anyone, especially not with an Archangel.”

Raphael tried to look away. He succeeded, somewhat, by looking at Aziraphale’s halo instead.“You may be needed elsewhere. You are excused.” The angel nodded and stepped off his merry way.

After the entire exchange, Raphael soared to pray to Her intently. The very same day, the Almighty created Alpha Centauri.

When peace reigned over their realm for a while, Raphael flew to the empty space the Almighty had provided for them for the creation. The main event, as She would call it, would be left for her to do, so the rest of the space was given for the Archangels to do as they pleased.

Raphael and Uriel were the only ones who had any sense of aesthetic among the four Archangels, given that Gabriel refused to act upon anything on instinct, and Michael was the purveyor of battle against the darkness that spreads among their kind like a plague. Uriel, as the patron of arts, simply stayed with Raphael for his curiosity for beauty. Raphael did the maintenance, mostly.

The Almighty called it the Universe. She saw what Raphael has done so far, and never said anything. (That usually means She was pleased, for silence is golden.)

“Is all these necessary?” Uriel asked, fingers running through the gaseous space of the galaxy Raphael was working on.

“It helps clear my mind,” Raphael answered. Uriel hummed in content, and flew off. He was alone for a moment, before Aziraphale dropped in cautiously, careful to avoid any of the stars and galaxies Raphael was taking care of.

“You summoned me, great one?”

“Did Uriel send you…?” Raphael looked ahead in annoyance. Aziraphale surely sensed that he was not needed at all, so he stepped back tentatively and got his wings ready for flight when Raphael said, “You may stay if you wish. I imagine Michael has been ruthless with training.”

“Indeed! It does not help that Archangel Gabriel supervises with her, the unforgiving fellow!” Aziraphale relaxed, massaging his arm to relieve some of the strain. Raphael indulged on a small smile; if a new angel noticed how tense those two are, then his suspicions were correct: Michael and Gabriel were jerks, no doubt. “Forgive me; I am not quite sure I understand what it is you are doing, Archangel Raphael.”

“Drop the pleasantries, Raphael would do fine,” He waved off. In his hands, he crumbled a ball of light She created from her breath and threw it around. The lights twinkled in the dark sky. By the flick of his wrist, the lights differed in color and intensity. Aziraphale gasped in awe. “No angel dared come here before. They are all for fighting evil, leaving Uriel and I on maintenance duty.”

“Archangel Uriel mentioned something about giving her blessings when I arrived. She knew I’d have an eye on the arts, somehow, so this is all so interesting to me,” the angel mused on, settling in one empty space to stay out of the way. “I suppose Archangel Michael didn’t seem pleased with how I decided to form myself. I am way more… soft… than the other guys.”

“It is not necessarily a bad thing, although…” Raphael held a nebula in his hands, glaring red in color. It mimicked the fiery passion in his chest, and it pained him to ignore it. “It may cause some unwanted attention.”

Aziraphale deflated, his shoulders hunching down in defeat.

He should have stopped the moment the words bloomed in his mouth, but he blurted out, “If you wish, you may accompany me as I finish this task. It would take quite some time, I warn you, and I have a hunch that Michael would be opposed to it. But, there’s really no point in regulating your spare time.”

“It would not be a bother?” Aziraphale asks.

Oh, if Raphael only knew.

“Not at all.”

At some point, Aziraphale came over to him too often and asked about healing too much.

Angels were required some bit of knowledge for basic aid, but Aziraphale was interested in it for another reason entirely: the angel wanted to help those in need, and not necessarily to heal the wounded in the impending war. They were vastly different, and it seemed like it was a part of his Mission, even if he wasn’t completely aware of it.

Raphael indulged. While Aziraphale wasn’t exactly under his jurisdiction, it didn’t hurt to have more help in the infirmary. After all, the principality knew his prayers, and his intentions were clear and good. No point in chasing him away, even if Michael was eyeing him cautiously during Archangel meetings.

“My principality has been hanging around your area often,” Michael said. “He’s not bad with the sword, but he doesn’t get to slack off when the rest of his comrades are working hard.”

“Michael, please,” Raphael brushed off the comment altogether. “Wouldn’t you want a swordsman who knows proper first aid?”

“He was made for _ my _ army,” Michael said pointedly, and that earned a hard glare from Raphael. “He is a soldier. Not a healer, not an artist. A soldier.” Uriel hung his head down, avoiding Michael’s gaze.

(Michael was not careful. That’s her flaw, for starters. 

Michael pushed towards methods that make her ruthless, and she enjoyed every single moment of it. She used strange channels to get whatever she wanted, and was very often the go-to person for sly affairs. But more than anything, Michael was not careful, nor was she keen with details. Sloppy, at best. That was her blindspot.

If she continued her trail of thought, Raphael could snap and destroy her, on the spot. He would take his sweet time and make her take back what she said.

_ Aziraphale is not yours, _he wanted to scream. Instead, he backed down.)

“I will let him know,” Raphael mumbled in defeat. “But whatever he chooses to do in his spare time is none of your business.”

“None of yours, too, so be careful, Raphael,” Michael stood up to leave. Gabriel watched them both with an amused grin. “I told you, curiosity never leads to anything good.”

“Best not to speak when you’re ahead, Michael,” Raphael called out before Michael could reach the door. “You need me more than I need you, after all.” Michael looked back with a glare.

Raphael considered that a win.

In the silent refuge of his office, Raphael could oversee the current progress of the Universe.

He knew he worked too much on it to be called “maintenance”; Uriel herself hardly went there to help, but it grew by itself, bit by bit. Like he mentioned to Aziraphale before, no other angel ever went there to help: angels often cannot comprehend a great deal about things beyond their understanding, and the Universe was new to them. All they knew were the bright yet cold halls of Heaven, and Raphael didn’t blame them.

So it surprised him a lot when Aziraphale dropped down and sat by the nebula Raphael helped create. “Eta Carinae,” He mumbled to himself. “What is he doing?”

Aziraphale was staring at nothing. At everything.

Mostly out of concern, he joined Aziraphale silently to see what he was marvelling at.

“I know I said I won’t be regulating whatever spare time you have,” Raphael started, and Aziraphale turned to him. “But Michael believes you should be training more.”

“I know,” Aziraphale replied. “She reprimanded me for it. Sternly, may I add.”

“She thinks there is no use for a soldier to delve into the creation of this new Universe, and I don’t blame her for her vexation,” Raphael shared, even though it annoyed him immensely. “She is to lead us to victory, after all.”

“Victory against what?” Aziraphale asked. “What are we to gain in the war against evil?”

“Triumph,” Raphael supplied. “At least, that’s what they say.”

“Is this all there is to my creation?” The principality asked sadly. “Handling a flaming sword, expelling evil?” He stood up and pretended to wield a sword, his stance perfect and calculated. “Rhythm, timing,” He enumerated further. “Confidence.” A blow. “Caution.” A block. “Serenity.” He let his fists ease out, and he looked upon a further star, pointing at it. “That has more purpose than I do.”

He was pointing at Alpha Centauri.

“From far away, you’d think that it’s a single star,” Aziraphale said. “But they will find out the truth: that the stars are bound to each other. By gravity or some divine force, no one knows but the Almighty herself, but,” He looked down at Raphael and beamed. “They will know. They will explore this vast Universe, and they will know.”

“Who?” Raphael asked. Aziraphale did not say a word.

Raphael realized that the principality was talking about his mission. He feared what he didn’t know, like the rest of the angels, after all. 

(Mostly, he feared for Aziraphale’s safety.)

He prayed a lot, then.

In the sense of the word, praying referred to talking to God directly, and there was a special room for Archangels to directly confer with the Almighty without any distractions. She rarely answered directly, only used Her voice when She deemed it important, but it was comforting enough for Raphael to know that She was listening, somehow.

She often answered in miracles, anyway.

“You are cruel, way too cruel, to trifle with me with a wee angel, my Lord,” Raphael pleaded, breath hasty and hitched. “Is this part of the Plan?”

As an answer, flames engulfed the room, and he was protected solely by his halo.

Raphael gritted his teeth, and diffused the flame with his wings. “You are testing me?”

“Raphael, you have proven yourself worthy all this time,” She said, warm and comforting, somewhat, but the anger in Raphael does not dissipate in the slightest. “This has never been anything related to you. Aziraphale was not made for you.”

“But,” Raphael choked out. He was surprised by the tears that fell down his cheeks. “But it feels like it.” He sobbed and collapsed on the floor, whispering, “It feels like he’s mine.” He looked up blankly at the blinding light. “But You would never allow it.”

“This is your choice to make, Raphael. Whatever you do, I will always be with you, no matter what.”

“Even if I fall?” Raphael asked.

The room dimmed.

Raphael wondered if angels ever felt sad in their whole lifetime, or if he was the only one.

Angels were forbidden to fall in love with each other.

It was an unspoken rule, and a very rare occurrence in Heaven to begin with. Angels were loving beings as dictated by the Creator, but there was no room to grow unnecessary and passionate love towards the same kind. They were the image of virtue and grace; emotion had the tendency to be perverted by vices, and that was uncalled for as a being of the Lord.

But it happened, nonetheless. When it did, the trial consisted of the four Archangels as the jury, with the angels accused before them. Usually, they held an audience, just to show what happens when they defy any of the rules in the realm.

Raphael wasn’t much for public proceedings, so he barely attended when he could get away with it, reasoning out the maintenance of the Universe. Gabriel thought nothing of it, Michael wished to ditch if she could, and Uriel only attended for the grandiose energy altogether.

So when he arrived on the next trial with a sour expression, the three were highly amused.

“Highly unlike you to join us, my friend,” Uriel said with a knowing glance.

Raphael laughed, albeit the lack of humor would have given away his overall dissatisfaction about the whole thing. “Shush, we’re already pushing it by being friends. Who knows, maybe one of us would fall for being too friendly.”

The three stared at him silently, humor lost on them. Raphael shrugged, and Gabriel took that as a cue for their continued silence. He stood to start the trial. In the middle of it all, two angels held each other’s hands with a determined expression. The glare they gave the Archangels was chilling. Raphael found himself growing cold; a shiver went down his spine.

“The Creator gives me full power to execute the sentence. The purity of your wings will be stripped from you, same as the memories you hold dear. You will Fall before us, and you will never be able to set foot on this realm ever again,” Gabriel said, authority dripping off every word.

Raphael’s heart broke when their wings turned pitch black and when their memories were wiped clean. The two accused look at each other in bewilderment, and all of a sudden, their flooring cleared, and they are falling from Heaven.

_ Love is a disease, _ Raphael thought, _ and I should have been curing them. _ _What the hell have I been doing? _

Screams of the two echoed within the court, and thus, the jury ended. Raphael was left to his devices by the rest of the Archangels, knowing that it would be overwhelming for him since it was the first time in a while. And it was.

The lone Archangel continued staring at the spot where the accused stood, and wondered what it would be like to defy everything you were built for just for love.

On the horizon, he saw Aziraphale crying to himself, and his whole world shattered. The angel ran away.

He found him alone by the stars, and Aziraphale never looked more beautiful.

“They fell,” the angel sobbed, gaze reaching out to the light afar. Praying. “They fell and no one felt anything.” His wings slowly wrapped itself around him like a cocoon. Raphael flew to him with a sad smile and tried calming his tense wings by smoothing out the feathers. “Are we not born for anything else but this?”

“You have to be careful, Aziraphale,” Raphael pleaded. “Any further than this and you will fall, same as them.”

“Gabriel scowled at me for being inadequate. Said that no angel with a mission should be as useless as I was,” Aziraphale told him sadly. The tears didn’t stop. “Oh dear, I cannot seem to stop crying. I wish to stop.” He looked at Raphael helplessly. “Please help me stop.”

Raphael wiped the angel’s tears with his sleeve. Aziraphale sniffed sadly. “Angels do not usually weep for other angels. Other creatures, perhaps, but never for one of our own.”

“Do they not feel anything other than indignation over those who fall?”

“I am afraid not.”

The angel closed in and wrapped his arms around Raphael’s waist, resting his chin on Raphael’s shoulder and breathing in deep. Raphael was able to breathe in sync to Aziraphale’s deep ones, just so he could empathize the panic the angel was feeling.

But this was taboo. Untoward. Unbecoming.

This warranted persecution.

(Raphael remembered how the recently fallen said their goodbyes to each other, with the softest touch of lips and a tight embrace. Sinful indulgence for their last moments as angels. Curiosity never leads to anything good, indeed.)

He let the angel go, and with a swift movement, Raphael pressed his lips against Aziraphale’s.

In Alpha Centauri, Raphael held Aziraphale close, lips wandering everywhere. He touched and felt and yearned, and Aziraphale was perfect in every moment, accepting him in every nook and cranny.

Consummating their love was forbidden. Acting upon it was taboo. But Raphael wanted, and Aziraphale wanted back.

And who was the Archangel to deny his angel of what he wanted?

They were caught almost immediately.

Before the first guards got to where they were, Raphael hastily kissed Aziraphale with all the love in the Universe and asked, “Do you trust me?”

“More than anything,” Aziraphale replied breathlessly.

“Then forgive me for what I will do, my angel,” Raphael said. “This will hurt me more than it will hurt you.”

“Raphael, what—”

The guards dropped from the sky and Raphael closed his eyes.

Court was as bright as ever, with the Almighty as the witness, and the rest of the Archangels as jurors. Gabriel, Michael and Uriel stood over the two of them with such authority that it shook Raphael’s core; Aziraphale was silent, but calm.

“This court is now in session,” Gabriel announced, his voice loud and clear in an audience of millions. “Today, we hold in custody the Principality Aziraphale and the Archangel Raphael, who have committed a sin resulting to damnation and exile.”

“You have fallen in love with each other and sealed it with an immoral act,” Michael said, anger running through the words in every syllable. “How do you plead?”

Raphael looked at Aziraphale, who looked up silently, like he had made up his mind. His chains were tight, but he managed to tug on to Aziraphale’s sleeve to get him to face the Archangel.

“This is my sin, and my sin alone,” Raphael told him, and Aziraphale shook his head. “You will not fall.”

“I do love you, Raphael,” Aziraphale admitted silently, smiling slightly. “No other feeling could ever come close to how I feel about you.”

How he longed for the words, but at a different circumstance. Maybe God would be forgiving, and maybe he will fall with a chance to meet Aziraphale again. But he knew that God was anything but forgiving, especially not to Her perfect children.

“Guilty, for my case,” Raphael answered with the clearest voice he could muster. There were murmurs heard in the audience, but Uriel hushed them. “I’m afraid this is one-sided, however, so if there’s anyone who should receive damnation, it should only be me.”

“Raphael!” Aziraphale exclaimed.

“I have tempted and lured the Principality Aziraphale using my power and authority. He does not speak freely for himself, especially that I have an influence over the Heavens,” Raphael lied, and his wings started to burn in pain. All of them assumed it was because of the sin.

“Raphael, please!” Aziraphale cried out. “Stop this!”

“It is only fair to keep him safe, especially when it has been revealed that he still has a mission in this realm,” Raphael continued. The Almighty’s light grew brighter. “God’s plans are ineffable, and you may see this as a way out, but whether you approve or not, Aziraphale is needed in this plan. There’s no need for both of us to fall.”

“You insolent child,” Gabriel gritted out. Uriel placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. “Raphael, you should have known better!”

“And you should have been questioning more regards Her intentions, Gabriel! What are you, a slave to do all Her bidding?” Raphael asked. Uproar erupted in the crowd. “Do you not wonder why She chose to forbid romantic love between angels to begin with? Because romantic love represents free will, and She refuses to give us that. Everything has a price for Her. She will test every single one of Her creations if she could. And she will.”

“Raphael, why are you doing this?” Aziraphale asked, tears flowing steadily down his cheeks. Raphael, with his hands bound, tried to wipe them away.

“There is no need for that, my angel,” Raphael smiled. “They will not prosecute you for this.” He faced the jurors and kept a straight face. “You will not fall for my sins.”

“But Raphael, I love you!” Aziraphale cried out loud, and scandalized gasps echoed in the chamber. “Stop lying for my sake! This has never been one-sided!”

“See the extent of my power over him?” Raphael grinned, albeit the physical pain it caused. “When I fall and lose my name, he will lose the feeling, and you will be left with a useful Principality. Hard-headed,” He turned to Aziraphale with a fond smile. “But useful.”

“We’re losing an Archangel in return, can’t you understand? Raphael, you’re better than this!” Uriel retorted back. “What about the maintenance of the Universe? Our patron healer?”

“My logic is sound, Uriel,” Raphael said. “She has made her decision, too.”

Her light grew dim. A wave of silence fell over everyone.

“Indeed I have, Raphael.”

“My Lord,” Raphael acknowledged.

“You will fall, much like the others, and Aziraphale is to stay here for his mission.”

Raphael sighed in relief.

“Don’t seem so relieved, this is a punishment, after all,” She said calmly. “Aziraphale will forget everything about you, and will remember nothing before your fall. Unless he chooses you, first and foremost, he will not recall anything about you.”

“Please, anything but that!” Aziraphale cried out. “Let me fall with him, instead!”

“And give you a chance to be together, for eternity?” Gabriel scoffed. “I imagine the ingrates in Hell are lax about such things, even if they are incapable of love.”

“You lose nothing in this,” Raphael mumbled.

“I will lose you, Raphael. But it does not matter, does it?” She replied calmly. “You have chosen your side.” Her light grew brighter than ever. Her voice rang through the chamber with ease. “In the off chance that you two shall meet in this lifetime, even if you reveal yourself as Raphael, he will not remember anything. You will only cause him pain and suffering if you try, so a word of caution: this is the extent of my mercy.”

Raphael nodded. Aziraphale collapsed to his knees and wept. (No other cry ever paralleled the pain the principality’s cries emitted.)

“Raphael, I strip you of your position and purity. Regardless, remember what I said before: I will always be with you,” She said in finality. Raphael closed his eyes. He didn’t stop the single tear that escaped from his eye. “Fare thee well.”

Afterwards, there was nothing but darkness and pain.

_“I only asked questions. That’s all it took in the good old days.” _

When Raphael fell, a part of him burned away.

He awoke to darkness and fear, with only his darkened wings as company. He sat up and noticed that his hair, golden blonde before he dropped from the sky, was burnt sienna now. His garb had blazed on his way down as well, and its previously white exterior had turned gray. He felt filthy, being there, but he knew it was all part of the process.

A demon with an amphibian strategically placed on his head motioned him to get up, and he was led to the throne room of this realm’s lord. Satan sat with a feral smile on his throne made of skulls, and he asked Raphael to come closer. There, he saw Gehenna for the first time.

“I give you the will to choose whatever name you see fit for you,” Satan said. “In exchange, tell me everything you know.”

He kept mum.

Satan laughed, which sounded like explosions, more than anything. “No sense in thinking about where your loyalties lie, especially when you were thrown out without much thought.” He was not sure if he should even try to defend Heaven. The lines between wanting to do good and evil were confusing him. “We hear things, sometimes, when Heaven gets a little too loud,” the dark lord started; the unquenchable fire enveloping the room. Raphael figured he should not be afraid, since he was not an angel anymore. “We have reason to believe that God is planning on creating another entity. Tell me if I get this right.

“Angels are perfect and love every single thing equally, but do not have complete freedom as to what they should do other than do the Almighty’s demands. She calls you Her children, Her messengers of Her word, but are you not just glorified slaves?”

Raphael looked up then. He remembered his lessons well; Satan used deceit and lies to get what he wants, and as the first Fallen, he felt no repentance over his rejection of the Almighty, thus his eternal banishment to the realm of evil. This was what made his sin unforgivable.

“She is creating new children, but listen to this,” Satan’s grin was unsettling, almost like he knew he was getting into Raphael’s nerves. “She is giving these creatures free will. They are to live in paradise, forever, with Her watching over as usual,” Raphael’s eyes widened. He could feel his hands curling into fists. Satan noticed this, of course. “I was an angel too, you know, so I could imagine what it feels like for you. An Archangel, nonetheless. I was not aware that your kind could fall, to begin with.”

“She does as She pleases. She has infinite power. There’s no point in battling Her forces, you cannot win,” Raphael spoke out. He knew Satan knows this, but there was power in repetition.

“Indeed; I am nothing but Her creature too, so I’m aware that my power is not infinite,” Satan lounged back on his throne, resting his cheek on his fist. “Technically, there is no way for me to ignite a war directly with Heaven.”

Their silence was filled up by the crackles of the fire surrounding them. But Satan grinned menacingly, and Raphael braced himself.

“But what if I tell you that there’s a way to fight Her back in a way that would make us a contender in this race?” Satan asked. He pointed Above with an indignant snarl. “She has been up there, doing whatever the hell She wants, for far too long!” Satan stood again and paced around, circling Raphael. His strides are long and hasty; his words booming and manic. “Is there a point in a perfect world if their journey is just straightforward?”

Raphael could feel it in his fingertips, the way Satan’s words were turning into ideologies and truths. It was becoming a conscious choice, he realized; he was becoming a demon, and there’s nothing he could do. Fighting it was useless; he had no other place in his entire existence other than in Hell.

“God believes She’s creating a world where evil does not exist; where She could watch over these pesky creatures throughout history. They are to become immortals with free will, Raphael,” Satan stopped in front of him, and kept his gaze on him. “But freedom comes with a choice. Temptation is easy when you are not inherently good; God did not create them that way. Decisions have to be made, moving forward, and this will be their downfall.”

“What is my role in all of this?” Raphael asked.

“The angel Aziraphale will be the world’s caretaker. He will watch over the new entities in Eden,” Satan said. “Involving yourself with the enemy isn’t much of a deal here. Unlike Heaven, we do not care about such things. If you can tempt the angel to our side, the better. Besides,” Satan eyed him up and down. “Wouldn’t you want that?”

He knew Satan was the root of all evil, but his temptation first hand was more than overwhelming. He exhaled slowly.

“God will give them a way to fail, as She usually does,” Satan continued. “She lives to test Her creatures, great and small.”

“Indeed, She does,” Raphael gritted his teeth.

Satan waved him away. “When She gives them the test, you shall tempt them to do the first sin of mankind.”

The task was daunting, but what was a simple temptation? Raphael nodded once, and turned his heel.

Before he could leave, however, Satan added, “Oh, and Raphael? Get rid of the name. Aziraphale will not remember you even if you use it.”

“You speak as if you’re certain we’ll meet on the regular, lord.”

“I am entrusting the world to your jurisdiction. You will be there for its entire lifetime, same as the principality.”

Raphael’s eyes widened. Before he could say anything, Satan laughed.

“It’s your duty to stop him,” Satan said. “Like falling wasn’t enough, eh?”

Raphael looked confused.

“Tell me, do you think She’d make it easy for you to live and forget about what you’ve done?” Satan chuckled. “Diabolical, almost. This is part of God’s punishment to you.”

When they meet in Eden, he had decided to call himself Crawly, like a damn pet, because it was easier to forget his old name when the new name was as dumb as it could be.

They stood over the wall, looking over Adam and Eve walking through the desert in the distance. He managed to do his job precisely; tempting the woman was the way to go, and Adam, the weak, gullible creature, indulged in temptation through Eve. _ Ambitious, these creatures are, _ Crawly thought to himself, _ if they wished to be like God from the beginning. _

“Well that went down like a lead balloon,” he muttered to himself, and there, he was meeting Aziraphale for the second time.

Like God promised, Aziraphale did not remember him one bit, nor did he recognize him post-Fall. Crawly had gotten away with looking at Aziraphale as much as he did in the guise of curiosity, and it surprised him how easy it was to talk to him without the fear of burning to death, unlike when he was an Archangel.

“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” Crawly asked. He believed he knew what Aziraphale had done to it, but it was fun to act a fool when he could. Aziraphale gulped and looked away. “Lost it already, have you?”

“I gave it away,” Aziraphale muttered, looking away sheepishly.

He knew it, bloody idiot. “You what?”

“I gave it away!”

Somehow, God’s punishment didn’t seem so awful, then. The first time rain ever fell on the world, Aziraphale shielded him from the raindrops with his wing. Crawly stepped as close as he could get away with, and kept silent. It was untoward of him to thank an angel, after all.

Out of nowhere, Aziraphale asked, “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

Crawly nodded, saying, “I gave an end to humankind.”

Aziraphale looked back at Eden. “You tempted them to sin, and now their children will suffer the consequences.”

He shrugged at that. “All in a day’s work, angel.”

“You literally created Death and you’re shrugging it off like nothing?” Aziraphale gaped at him. “Are demons really this pompous?”

Crawly grinned. “Probably means we’ll be seeing more of each other, huh? Are you mad that I made things significantly harder for you?”

Aziraphale only sighed. Crawly laughed for the first time in a while.

As much as it would seem otherwise, Crawly didn’t actually seek out Aziraphale during the first few millennia of the world. He just so happened to keep on bumping into him when there was something Above was thoroughly interested in; that usually meant he had to look into it, too, and send his reports afterwards. Stupid, bloody reports. He was pretty sure he’d be bringing that to humanity just to see them suffer over something so mundane.

Crawly did a lot of travelling just to see how the world was doing. Part of it was sentimentality, he believed, since he was part of the team that maintained it before God deemed it worthy of a proper launch.

By 3500 B.C., humanity had a preliminary grasp of how the world worked, and had done some steadfast innovations regarding agriculture, industrial methods, and medicine. Food, while Crawly chose to not partake, was bland and disappointing as it could be, due to the lack of spices and knowledge about them. He at least introduced liquor to the poor folks, so they could forget about how gross their food had been so far.

The long-term results of drinking were his innovation, of course. Beer and wine came to life, and he knew he could at least get through the entire lifetime and forget about his angel with liquor in his system.

(Hangovers? Also his thing.)

He met Aziraphale again in Mesopotamia, before a bloody big ark and a petting zoo to boot. Aziraphale revealed God’s plan to drown every single local, even the kids, and Crawly wished he could put it past Her.

(“Genocide, really?”

“Oh hush, Crawly, don’t make it sound so sinister.”)

_ At least they got rid of unicorns, _ Crawly thought to himself when the water started to rise to his ankles.

During the death of Christ, Crawly reintroduced himself as Crowley. He and Aziraphale watched on as they crucified him mercilessly before the masses.

“I heard your lord himself came to tempt him,” Aziraphale said. “I’m surprised he came all his way.”

“Don’t be daft; it’s the son of God. He spared no expense to have him at our side. Who wouldn’t want to see Her golden child fail to begin with? I did accompany him for the most part, but he did the tempting all on his own,” Crowley told him. “I’m more surprised that She made “her only begotten son” so perfectly, though. She usually gives lee-way to his creatures.”

“He’s a part of Her, in a way, so it would be highly unusual for her to let him sin,” Aziraphale said.

“She’s bored as usual, that’s for sure,” Crowley rolled his eyes. (Someday, somehow, he was going to kill someone with it.)

“I’ve been meaning to ask you this, but you speak of Her like you knew her well,” Aziraphale started, and Crowley turned to see what brought this on. “I understand that demons are fallen angels, but in your case, it seems like you knew her in a closer proximity than normal ange—“

“I’m going to stop you right there, angel, and we will not speak about this within this millennia, or the next.” His tone was cold.

Aziraphale paled. “Ah, forgive me, I didn’t mean to offend—“

Crowley was already walking away. “Look at that, an angel offending a demon. You deserve a medal, Aziraphale; you do your job so well. Bloody well done.”

“Crowley, please!”

“Ssssilence,” Crowley found himself hissing, now. “Mind your damn businessssss, angel.”

From a distance, Jesus breathed his last breath, and God mourned.

They didn’t see each other until 44 A.D., in Rome, of all places. Crowley had been getting curious stares over his amber eyes, and he devised a little contraption to stop it altogether. (He called them sunglasses, but they won’t be a hit until 1100 A.D. In China, even. They used them in court, the damn idiots. Couldn’t they see that it was all for aesthetic?)

He was drinking from a clay cup when he realized Aziraphale was there. His angel seemed cautious, especially since they were technically on the opposite sides. But the idiot actually tried to tempt him into trying oysters for the very first time, and he could only look at him in disbelief as the angel recollected himself.

“I really should stop saying whatever it is that pops in my head,” Aziraphale sighed. “Going to get me in trouble someday, I’m certain.”

“Already did,” Crowley muttered, remembering the fall.

“Did you say something, my dear?”

_ My dear, _ Crowley repeated in his head. He gripped on his cup until his knuckles went white. _ Crowley, he doesn’t remember anything. He will never remember anything. She damn sure made that certain. _

“Anyway, it’s all for the best, angel. One of your admirable qualities, really.”

Crowley will never get used to how Aziraphale blushes. The flush popped out in his pure complexion. “You’re being too nice.”

Crowley made a face. “Anything but that, please, for the love of Go- oh, fuck me, blasphemy should be so easy.”

Aziraphale didn’t take back what he said, in the end. They left without paying their tabs, as it would magically settle itself anyway, and walked their way to Patroclus’ for dinner.

In the end, Crowley didn’t like oysters all that much, but it was good to see Aziraphale so happy slurping the gross buggers.

They met a few times more after that, and every single time, it got exponentially harder for Crowley to pretend like they didn’t have something before the world started.

The thing was, Crowley wasn’t as irrational as people would have made him seem after the fall. It just so happened that there was not much reason to keep a level head when you’ve been through hell and worse.

The arrangement began at 1020 A.D., five thousand years into their stay in the world. Crowley had begun to feel better about his task, but voiced out any concerns to Aziraphale that would warrant him a scolding in hell. They talked about the humans’ inclination in becoming good and bad and the entities’ conscious act of choosing which side they would rather be on.

Since then, they agreed to be of help when the other party needed it, without their superiors finding out, of course. Crowley let himself breathe for the first time; Aziraphale was finally a friend of his, not just an adversary under guise, and he was okay with that.

Until he wasn’t.

By the end of 18th century, when Dr. Pierre Ordinaire fled to Switzerland due to the French revolution that ended the lives of many bon vivants, he was able to concoct absinthe for the first time.

Crowley was the one who insisted that Henry Louis Pernod buy the formula and open up a factory to mass produce the thing. It wasn’t him to be blamed, however, for Pernod’s stealing of the drink’s fame and completely removing Ordinaire’s name from it. That was just Pernod being an asshole.

Regardless, Aziraphale and Crowley found themselves dining for the first time since Globe Theatre, and since it had been a while, Crowley indulged on the angel’s true love: eating. They ate way too much in one sitting and capped off with absinthe at the angel’s current home. Aziraphale believed that that was the reason why Crowley was asleep for most of the 18th century.

Crowley knew that wasn’t the case, because the night of that particular dinner, they both got so drunk and high off of absinthe that Crowley started to spill way too much information that he should never have been able to disclose in the first place.

“God’s a jerk,” Crowley said in a stoic expression as he placed the reservoir glass on the table in front of them. Aziraphale only held on to his own glass and hiccupped, listening as the demon talked on. “Fucking jerk. She’s way too nonchalant over the decisions She makes.”

Aziraphale shushed him animatedly, obviously inebriated. “Don’t be so loud! She’ll smite you with lightning and I will be discorporated along with you, and there’s too much paperwork that comes with it. Paperwork, my dear! That’s probably your idea, huh?” Aziraphale giggled at the idea.

“Stupid angel. We can’t do anything to your precious little realm. I bet that little shit Gabriel started the whole thing.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale blinked. “He definitely would have done it.”

A beat.

“I’m sorry I called you stupid, by the way; that’s not what I meant. You’re really smart.”

“Mm-hmm,” Aziraphale mumbled. “It’s fine. I am stupid in some ways, I’m afraid. Gabriel tended to say that a lot, even after I got assigned here.”

“Sssstill?” Crowley hissed. “Gabriel can fucking sssssuck it.”

“Crowley! That’s hardly polite.”

“I’m a demon,” Crowley reminded with a shrug. “I’m not supposed to be polite.”

“But- But you’ve been nothing but nice to me,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“That’s because I like you, angel. The rest of your lot can fucking- can fucking, I don’t know, burn to Gehenna for all I care.”

Aziraphale winced. “That- that would hurt a lot, dear.”

Crowley nodded absent-mindedly, until he realized that he just admitted that he liked the drunk angel, and that he barely commented on that tidbit. “It wouldn’t hurt as much as when I fell, that’s for sure.”

Aziraphale looked up at that. Crowley wanted to bite off his tongue.

“You said- you said that we- we won’t talk about it.”

“Well,” Crowley leaned over to reach the empty absinthe bottle on the table, shaking it for good measure. “We managed to finish the entire thing, so judging from how much we could barely keep our words in check, I’m sure I’ll talk, either way. What do you want to know, angel?”

Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled. It fucking twinkled, for Hell’s sake. Crowley imagined he’d been so curious about it, after all.

“Did you know Gabriel before you fell?”

Crowley scoffed. “Yes. He was a prick.”

“Still is, actually.”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley laughed out loud. “That was so good. Well done, angel.”

“Do you have any weird stories about Above at all?”

Crowley stopped to think. He glanced quickly at the clock, only to realize that he could barely see it properly. Damn that absinthe. “Not really; you should know that angels are good in nature, so everybody kept to themselves up there. Except, you know, Michael, who was surely fucking Ligur.”

Aziraphale gasped.

“I’m kidding,” Crowley beamed. “They can’t afford to lose another Archangel, after all.”

“Another?”

Crowley gulped. He already said too much. Aziraphale was looking at him expectantly, then.

“Do you know Archangel Raphael?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale tilted his head. “Of course I do. He’s the patron Archangel of healing.”

“Then you would know what happened.”

Aziraphale looked at him blankly. “I’m afraid I have no clue what you’re saying, my dear.”

“Archangel Raphael. He fell.”

“What are you talking about? Archangel Raphael is still Above.”

Crowley felt his blood run cold. A fury unbeknownst to him came to life, and he swore he could feel melted gold running through his veins. “What?”

Aziraphale seemed ignorant of it, however. “He has done miracles in this world, Crowley. He helped Tobiah, healed Tobit. He stirred the healing waters of Bethesda,” The angel raised a brow. “Why would you say that Archangel Raphael had fallen? Of course, I would believe you, but I’ve seen him here on Earth when She needed him to be—”

Crowley wasn’t listening anymore. He couldn’t believe it. God actually had the nerve to give away his name.

That does it.

“Becaussssse, dear angel, I was there when he fell. Do you know why?” Crowley removed his sunglasses and placed it on the table. He stood up and exposed the full length of his wings, all six of them, singed from the fire. A broken halo hovered over his head, and blood streaked down his cheeks as eternal tears that will always pain him. “Because I was Archangel Raphael.” He pointed at Aziraphale. “I saved your life, and fell in your stead.”

Aziraphale suddenly collapsed on his seat, clutching his head tight, screaming loud.

“Your consciousness refuses to defy Her, still, so you will never remember unless you decide to choose us,” Crowley looked down at him with sad, sad eyes. The tears of blood continued to drip down the floor. “All this time, you have memories of a different Raphael?”

“Crowley, please!”

“If you truly loved me, you’d never forget,” Crowley said. “You let Her wipe away your memories of me. I prayed for you, my angel. You were supposed to be mine.”

Aziraphale was sobbing now. Crowley was sure it was from the pain. She did say this would happen, since defying Her wishes usually did that.

“Please…”

Aziraphale’s broken sobs snapped the demon’s tirade completely and Crowley regained his consciousness, returning back to his human disguise with a snap and immediately going to Aziraphale to cradle him in his arms. The angel looked at him with a pained expression.

He expected that the principality would be mad at him for what he had done, but nothing could have ever prepared him for what Aziraphale did.

The angel cupped Crowley’s cheeks and smiled up at him, saying, “Raphael, you haven’t changed a bit.” He passed out as soon as the words left his mouth.

Crowley took Aziraphale back to his lodging with a quick snap of his fingers. After tucking him to bed, he walked back to his own loft, where he slept for most of the century. When he asked Aziraphale back in 1862 if he remembered anything from that night, the angel told him that the hangover caused by their little get together lasted one week for him, and that he barely remembered what happened.

(Aziraphale remembered the dessert that night, of course; delectable choux pastries filled with sweet and fluffy cream, glazed over with summer honey.)

Revealing his grotesque, post-fall self to Aziraphale had proven to be taxing for himself, and that was sugarcoating the entirety of it. He was tired, for the first time in five thousand years, and so, he slept some more. His angel did reject his attempt to get holy water after all, so he needed time to get over it. Maybe he could plan in his sleep.

Demons, as a matter of fact, did not dream. Crowley found this out when he slumbered for six decades straight, and realized that there was a reason why sleep was one of the most pleasurable things in the world. Fornication can suck it. Sleep was the way to go!

When he sleepily stumbled into the lavatory in 1832, if he was in any way a decent demon, he would have realized that Aziraphale was in his loft, drinking tea by the window sill, reading Sappho. The rain had been trickling in Soho for days now, and there seemed to be no end in sight. The mud stained Aziraphale’s trousers a lot, and that annoyed him too much – none of which the demon would know, because he slept through the decade like a newborn.

After washing his hands, Crowley went back to his room and plopped unceremoniously on his sinful bed that cradled his body perfectly. If he were even remotely cautious about anything else, he would have heard Aziraphale laugh at him.

“Oh Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale said as he slumbered on, stepping into the room carefully. The floorboards creaked too much due to age. He imagined the building will be demolished soon. “I’ve missed our little trysts, haven’t you?” With a swift movement, he carded his fingers through Crowley’s growing locks; they were almost past his waist now. “Wake up soon, please. There’s much this century has in store.”

Crowley shifted in his sleep.

“They’re revolutionizing travel as you sleep,” Aziraphale plopped on the empty space Crowley left. “Dining cars, can you believe it? Now we can dine and dash, quite literally!” He allowed himself to laugh slightly at his little joke. “Paris is quite lovely this time this year. Maybe we can have crepes again.”

The excitement died down on the angel’s face. He cupped Crowley’s face and thumbed his cheek ever so slightly, not wanting to wake him up, regardless of his intention. Aziraphale smiled.

“You remind me of someone so dear, you know. They grew their hair out like this, but it was more of a buttery gold than your gorgeous crimson,” Aziraphale told him fondly. “Funny thing is, I can’t seem to remember more about this person. I see bits and pieces of him sometimes, when I concentrate hard enough, but other than his hair and his wings, I can’t seem to recall anything else.”

In his sleep, Crowley snored silently.

A lone tear escapes Aziraphale. “Do you think he’d be able to forgive me, perhaps? For forgetting about him?”

The silence bore very little comfort, but he stayed all the same.

“I think I’ll stay for a bit more,” Aziraphale whispered. He flips through his book and reads out loud, “It’s no use Mother dear, I can’t finish my weaving,” He smiled, as if he were in on a secret. “You may blame Aphrodite, soft as she is; she has almost killed me with love for that boy.”

The rainfall continued to fall steadily, the pitter-patter of the raindrops flittered against Crowley’s wide windows.

He heard from the angel again on the cusp of the second World War.

The idiot managed to rope himself into Nazi agents running around London working for Hitler, of all people. Goodness usually blindsided the angel, so when he proudly announced that the lady he walked in with was on his side, Crowley almost burst out laughing.

So he walked through the aisle (skipping at best, really, but who cares), avoiding pressing too hard on the soles of his feet because damn do they burn, and when he reached the altar, he did his very best to intimidate. Humans had the tendency to be very dumb, as a matter of fact, because if you were a sensible human who valued your life more than anything, a bomb threat would usually have you running for your dear life.

So he let the bombs rain down upon the church (points for him in Hell for that, no doubt), and managed to miracle Aziraphale’s book to safety. He took the bag from the hand of the agent that was dramatically killed by the ceiling. He gave it to the angel as nonchalant as possible, asking, “Lift home?”

He dropped Aziraphale by his bookshop, without the angel telling him the directions. Of course he knew where to go, especially when he’d passed by the establishment way more times for comfort. They haven’t seen each other in almost a century, after all. None of the two seemed to want to leave when they reached the front steps, however.

“You’ve opened a shop,” Crowley said just to start conversation. “Been keeping away humans, I bet.”

“Obviously,” Aziraphale smiled. “I made the bookshop to store my books, not sell them.”

“Might want to look into making a private library of sorts, angel. You have to sell them someday; people will be very suspicious otherwise.” Crowley opened the door. Aziraphale did the same, exiting the vehicle. “You almost did today, anyway, so job well done.”

They walked to the bookstore’s steps silently.

“Well, I should go.” Crowley started walking back to his Bentley when something tugged on his sleeve.

“I, uh,” Aziraphale croaked out, and was that a blush on his cheeks? “I don’t think I managed to thank you for the books, so if you mind, maybe we can catch up with a bottle of Perrier-Jouet?”

Crowley raised his brows. “Vintage?”

“Of course; would I serve you anything subpar?” Aziraphale huffed.

“No, definitely not,” Crowley smiled to himself. He stared at the note the angel left on the door about his opening hours. He barked a short but loud laugh. “Ah, Aziraphale; your opening hours are worthy of praise. Bloody brilliant, that’s what it is. Are you sure you’re not a demon in disguise?”

Aziraphale gasped in horror. “Stop that, don’t go causing unnecessary trouble.”

The thing was, after years of trying to visit Aziraphale in the place that mattered to him the most, finally entering it feels entirely different. Stepping inside felt a lot like going back to the 19th century; the shop was brimming with browns and beiges, and lined with bookshelves fully-stocked with books the angel refused to sell ever.

“Ah, the feeling of love,” Crowley said, sauntering past the angel. He turned around and pretended to be utterly disgusted. “I thought angels are supposed to love all creatures equally?”

Aziraphale looked sheepish. “Well, I might have gone overboard with the place.” He led the way to his back room, where the angel did most of his inventory. On his personal table sat a first edition Edgar Allan Poe, and Crowley was more than attentive to not pick it up haphazardly. Aziraphale saw this and gave him a small smile as thanks, and proceeded to put it out of the way to place down a bottle of magically chilled Perrier-Jouet and two champagne glasses.

“I would have invited you to dinner,” Crowley mused when the angel passed the glass by the stem. “But they are currently bombing London, and I wouldn’t want to cause any suspicion.”

“Oh dear, you’re absolutely right,” Aziraphale looked upwards with a worried expression. “Gabriel might deem it unfair if I miracled my bookstore’s safety. And the bombs are dropping so steadily, too.”

Crowley took a tentative sip of the champagne. Pleased, he snapped his fingers with an impish smile. “For the gorgeous champagne.”

“Thank you, my dear.”

Crowley managed to hide the blush behind the glass. The night was young, and there was much champagne to be consumed.

In 1967, Principality Aziraphale, his very own adversary, gave him a thermos filled with the holiest water he could find before he could steal it from a nearby church, and told Crowley that he goes “too fast” for him.

He believed otherwise; pining over his angel for six thousand years was slow, and demons weren’t known for their patience for anything other than the impending Armageddon. As an ex-Archangel, however, a measly six thousand years was nothing. They were taught to be the paramount of patience, anyway, so Crowley figured he was pushing the angel far too much.

But, he argued with himself as he drove through Soho, London at 90 miles per hour, they barely saw each other at all. It was hard not to miss the angel when he was surrounded with drab personalities; of course, he did as much evil and tempting as he could, but he was willing to admit that they were simply time-fillers until he saw Aziraphale again.

He was in love, still very much so, despite everything. So much so that he’d die for him, if things came to it.

The tartan thermos filled with death liquid sat with him in ominous silence.

So Crowley gave him all the space he needed. Four decades worth, in fact.

Then, the Antichrist was brought to Earth.

It was comforting to know that the angel didn’t want the world to end as much as he did.

If anything, he was beginning to be quite fond of humans. They knew how to shake things up themselves in ways that would give demons like himself a run for their goddamned money.

They came to an agreement that they were rather fond of the entirety of the world, even its mundane and dumb parts, and would much rather live in their interesting plane rather than their bleak realms. So they figured that the Antichrist must remain as human as possible, with equal chances of being good and evil. Who knows, maybe the child would choose humanity over the ungodly power of Satan.

That was a lot to take in as an eleven year old child, after all.

So disguised as Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis, the two went incognito in Warlock’s home and looked after him for six long years.

During breaks, they sat together in hushed whispers and conversations.

(“Did you really have to teach him that horrid, horrid song?”

“Step up your game, angel; I’m bringing in a whole dance number next time.”)

Crowley loved the act sometimes, because it gave him an excuse to bicker with Aziraphale, given the fake backstory that the two hated each other somehow. It was the first time they’re together for more than a night in over six millennia, so Crowley was more than happy to keep the act as long as he could.

“Rover,” He said to the dog he brought, placing him on his knees. “I think it’s about time we left. It won’t be long now, but they would be suspicious if we continued on our conquest.”

The dog barked out the smallest woof.

Warlock was napping on his bed soundly, and Crowley took it as a chance to clean up some of the toys he left on the floor. From the boy’s room, he could see the garden perfectly, where Aziraphale smiled and cheered the flowers on. The roses bloomed their best that year.

“Oh, I’ll miss this,” Crowley admitted to himself, watching on as Aziraphale watered the shrubs with angelic glee. “We won’t see much of each other again.” Rover licked his hands in consolation.

The angel might have noticed that he was watching over him, because he managed to look at the very window of Warlock’s room and wave happily at the demon. Crowley gave a small smile and waved curtly.

As if on cue, Warlock woke up. “Nanny?”

Crowley walked over and smiled, cupping his cheek slightly. “Hello, my darling. Had a nice sleep?”

Warlock nodded. He sat up and stretched his arms wide before asking, “Who are you waving at, Nanny?”

Crowley thought for a second, before answering, “I was watching over Brother Francis. You know how he is, clumsy old man.”

“Oh,” Warlock said. “Can I play outside, now?”

Crowley pretended to think about it for more than a second, before letting out a small nod. “But do promise me to pester Brother Francis as much as you can.” Warlock nodded with a toothy grin. “Run along, now. Shall I bring out your tricycle?”

Crowley sat by the shade of the trees and watched on as Warlock rode around in his tricycle. Aziraphale found him and offered some bread. Crowley rejected the offer, but asked if they were on for the museum visit that night. Aziraphale answered “yes” before going his merry way.

That night, in the midst of art pieces dating back to the 18th century, they decided that they should leave the Dowling’s Regent Park residence for good, and watch from a safe distance. They grabbed dinner at The Ritz, and the angel indulged on two desserts before retreating for the night.

When the two left, Regent Park was never quite the same. Warlock never sang any of Nanny Ashtoreth’s curious little rhymes again, and never saw roses more beautiful that Brother Francis’.

For the record, he never had the need to prove himself to Satan in any way. He wasn’t exactly fond of Hell to begin with.

So when he realized that he misplaced the Antichrist, a part of him just wanted to escape the earthly realm and run away with Aziraphale. All his plans from then on included the angel, of course.

But Aziraphale said, “You can’t leave, Crowley. There isn’t anywhere to go.”

“It’s a big universe,” Crowley retorted back. He was thinking about Alpha Centauri. She made that for him, when he was Raphael, praying intently for Aziraphale. Back then, it wasn’t even about claiming the angel to be his. It was mostly in thanks for creating the angel in the same lifetime as he was in. “Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo, we can go off together.”

He knew he was being selfish. It was a very human line of thinking.

“Go off together…?” Aziraphale repeated. He sounded a little bit hopeful, then… cruel. It took one blasted second for him to shift, the bastard. “Listen to yourself.”

Crowley’s feeling a little desperate, then. “How long have we been friends?” He didn’t wait for the angel to reply. “Six thousand years!”

“Friends? We’re not friends!” The angel said exasperatedly, staying at his place for the remainder of his tirade. “We are an angel and a demon! We have nothing whatsoever in common!” His tone was pointed, indignant. Almost like he was trying to convince himself, rather than proving a point. He looked pained when he said, “I don’t even like you!”

Well, that didn’t hurt now, did it.

“You do!” Crowley said, and he’s not quite sure if it was a statement or plead.

“Even if I knew where the Antichrist was, I wouldn’t tell you. We’re on opposite sides!”

“We’re on our side,” Crowley hissed.

“There is no “our side”, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “Not anymore,” He added decidedly. “It’s over.”

Crowley wasn’t sure if he had a heart, exactly, but he was pretty sure his chest just ached more than it should, for a hollow space. “Right,” He said. “Well then…” He walked off. “Have a nice doomsday.”

(In the gazebo, Aziraphale wept.

“If this was Your plan from the beginning,” He retorted upward, where God was supposed to be listening. “Then You should have never let us meet in the first place.” The angel wondered why something so right felt so painful. “We were doomed from the beginning, weren’t we?”

The skies gloomed in response.)

Sometimes, he still talked to Her. Whenever he felt a little desperate, that is.

“Okay, I know you’re testing them; you said you were going to be testing them,” Crowley said, clinging on to his throne and looking upwards, worried. “You shouldn’t test them to destruction. Not to the end of the world.” Crowley sighed. “Especially not Aziraphale. He already passed the first time.”

The pages of the Astronomy book floated around him, and he sifted through the nebulas and galaxies with little interest. Alpha Centauri hovered over his head mockingly.

“May I remind you that you caused the Great Flood back in Mesopotamia,” Crowley reached over the page. “And all you gave is a fucking rainbow. You promised never to bring flood again, so you’re resorting to other godly ways, I see. What’s it gonna be this time? Shifting tectonic plates in the Pacific, causing billions in death toll?” Crowley laughed bitterly. “Let me guess. Blocks of hail?”

He was bound to get killed if he continued talking.

“All this to see who’s worthy of eternal life?” Crowley asked. “Don’t fuck with me. Humans embrace mortality; they hardly believe in you now, anyway.” He grinned Above and asked, shouting out, “How does it feel to see your beloved children fall, the second time around?”

Taunting Her did very little for their current state, but it helped soothe his aching chest, nonetheless. Thunder rumbled from far away.

The Bentley played You’re My Best Friend as he rushed to Aziraphale’s bookshop after his altercation with Ligur and Hastur.

It was playful, when it started, but when they arrived at the burning bookshop, everything else muted out. Crowley went straight to the burning establishment and screamed for Aziraphale, hoping he was just waiting for someone to rescue him, like all those other times. Like back in 1793, Paris, or 1941, London.

The flames burned on. All of his angel’s precious first editions, burning to the ground.

Aziraphale was gone. He couldn’t bring himself to cry; there was nothing left in him to mourn for. He managed to lose him twice.

_ If Aziraphale isn’t gonna be in this world, then what’s the use of it, _ Crowley thought as he sat on the floor of the bookstore. She could burn it all for all he cares. There’s no use for this world if his angel’s gone forever.

The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agness Nutter was on the ground, scorched around the edges. He picked it up gingerly, mostly as a souvenir of this wretched world, and stood up.

“Let the war commence,” Crowley said to himself, and sauntered out of the burning library. “If I lost my everything, then not a single one of you gets to keep anything at all.”

Like any old idiot would do, he drank his sorrows away.

He was in his third bottle of Talisker Whisky when he noticed a figure sitting with him in the pub.

“Aziraphale…!” He was probably hallucinating. Drunkards usually do that, right?

The angel was apparently discorporated. He had never seen anyone discorporated before; mostly dead in a burning puddle of monstrous goo.

Aziraphale asked, “Did you go to Alpha Centauri?”

“Nah, I changed my mind,” Crowley drawled on. “Stuff happened.” He frowned deeply now, and if he wasn’t careful, he was really gonna start crying at any moment. “I lost my best friend.”

Crowley’s not entirely sure, with the angel’s discorporated-ness and all, but Aziraphale looked sad, as well.

Aziraphale was quicker to bounce back from the mood, however, when he went straight to business. Said that he needed a book from his bookshop. Crowley sadly announced that it burned down. Aziraphale needed just one book, “The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of--”

“Agnes Nutter! Yes! I took it!” Crowley pointed at the book. “Look, souvenir!”

Aziraphale told him that everything was in the book, and that he figured out all there is to know about the Antichrist. Instructed him to go straight to Tadfield Air Base, where the end of the world will happen.

He could sense it, in a way; how the angel was feeling responsible over everything. In one way or another, the entire thing could have been their fault. They could at least try to save the world they love the most.

So he rode to Tadfield with his Bentley. Burned Hastur on the way, too.

More than anything, Adam was smart.

Adults very often dismissed kids as simple and idealistic when they do something that baffled them entirely, and they never gave credit when credit is due. From the moment Crowley saw and heinously intimidated Adam, he knew that the kid had guts. Most importantly, he knew that the kid knows how to listen.

So when Aziraphale taunted him with the words, “Do something, or I’ll never talk to you again,” Crowley took everything in his power to stop time. They didn’t need long; they just needed a few words with the boy. Just to tell him what he already knew, and what he needed to know.

“Adam, reality will listen to you right now. You can change things,” Crowley said, as steady as he could.

“And whatever happens, for good or for evil…” Aziraphale reached out for Adam’s hand, then looking quickly at Crowley. He wielded the flaming sword in a ready stance. “... we’re beside you.”

“I’m going to start time,” Crowley told Adam. “You won’t have long to do whatever you’re going to do.”

(Adam never shook, nor stuttered. He never showed any ounce of fear in his tiny little face, nor did he let any of what happened faze him. He had made up his mind, and he was gonna see whatever it is he was planning through.

That was admirable, Crowley thought. Very human.)

Then, Satan appeared. Adam was steadfast and let go of both their hands to stand against him. Said the magic words that ended Satan’s right to be there in the first place. “You’re not my dad, you never were.”

And just like that, Adam saved the entire world.

Upon realizing the fact, Crowley turned to Aziraphale and said, “He did it.” He couldn’t stop the grin that formed on his face.

Drinking by the bench was one of the most peaceful nights Crowley had in the past six thousand years, even though the wine was more or less decent, and there was little light to go about with. It bugged him a lot, however; thinking about the Almighty’s plan and it’s so-called ineffability.

“Angel,” Crowley said. Aziraphale looked at him. “What if the Almighty planned it like this all along?” He remembered how he fell; how it burned through his wings and cracked his halo apart. “From the very beginning?”

Planned it thus: Create the Principality Aziraphale. Make Raphael fall for him, make it the cause of his Fall. Lose Aziraphale’s memories of Raphael, send him to Earth for his mission as its caretaker. Risk it all for Satan to send the ex-Archangel to Earth, which is the crucial part of it all. If She played Her cards right, Aziraphale and Crowley will eventually come to an Agreement. Crowley will misplace the Antichrist. The two will try to fix it. They will fail, but it’s all according to her plans after all. Adam will choose humanity, and there won’t be a war.

Satan will be unable to touch Heaven through Earth, and She will continue to look over all creatures, great and small.

Aziraphale shrugged. “Could have. I wouldn’t put it past her.” He took a long swig at the wine bottle.

The delivery man came by and asked them to sign for the package. Aziraphale finally knew what to answer when people asked about his flaming sword. He’d say it like this: “With a trusty courier service, only to be used once the Armageddon restarts.”

They see a flash of the bus from afar, and they discuss shortly about their plans. Aziraphale planned on going back to his bookshop for now, but Crowley carefully reminded him about it burning down.

“You can stay at my place, if you like,” Crowley offered. Granted, the flat was hardly lived in at all, and all the appliances weren’t even plugged in, but he was sure they would be working perfectly, anyway.

“I don’t think my side would like that,” Aziraphale said, eyes glassy and forlorn. 

Crowley frowned at him. “You don’t have a side anymore. Neither of us do.”

_ It’s just you and me again, like it was before I fell. Do you remember? _

“We’re on our own side,” Crowley said. He had hoped for this moment for a long time. “Like Agnes said, we are going to have to choose our faces wisely.”

They rode the bus, and was silent for the entirety of it. Aziraphale stared off into the distance the whole time. Crowley patiently waited.

Choosing their faces wisely mostly meant that they had to pretend to be each other so that the things that could cause their death won’t work, especially if Aziraphale were to bathe in Holy Water and if Crowley were to burn in hell fire.

“There is a chance that this won’t work, you know,” Crowley said before they switched. Aziraphale looked sullen, for a mere second, before he shrugged it off and beamed. “Not even your million kilowatt smiles can save us, angel.”

“Trust Agnes,” Aziraphale said. “Has she ever been wrong?”

“No, but it’s not worth risking,” Crowley replied. “One mistake can cost everything, angel. I can’t lose you the third time.”

The notion of an unforgotten happening rang heavy in the air. Aziraphale only stared at him for that. 

“But if this succeeds,” He reached out his hand for a handshake, and Aziraphale took it. “I owe you a story, a very long one.”

And their plan commenced.

It assured them that Heaven and Hell won’t bother them in the slightest for the next century or so. Needless to say, they were free to do whatever they hell they want, and they were not bound by any job description. They could continue with their purpose (spreading good and evil, balancing out the poles, being the yin and yang, perfecting the equilibrium of the Earth), or do whatever it is their hearts desired.

That also meant that Aziraphale has chosen their side, once and for all, after years of defiance.

(For Crowley, the waiting was the easy part. It didn’t happen all at once, after all. It happened very slowly, and very carefully.)

After their victory lunch at the Ritz, Crowley asked if Aziraphale wanted to walk around London. There was something he wanted to say, he said, and he needed to be on his feet.

“Wouldn’t you rather we settle down somewhere? Maybe have some tea?” Aziraphale asked.

“No,” Crowley answered. “This might take a while, and I get jittery.”

“Indeed you do. Well then,” Aziraphale said. “After you.”

They walked past a flower shop first. Crowley bought Aziraphale sunflowers, and said, “I’ve tried telling you this story before, a few times, actually. But at the time, you were still on Heaven’s side, and I chose to stay at Hell’s side while I wait for you. She was very specific with her instructions, after all: Aziraphale must choose to you, or his memories will never come back.”

“Memories of what, exactly?” Aziraphale asked.

“When Her Almighty created the universe, I was an Archangel.”

Aziraphale clutched on to his sunflowers. “You… were?”

Crowley nodded.

“May I ask questions?” Aziraphale asked with his hand raised slightly, like a pupil in class.

“Can’t hurt to try,” Crowley answered.

“Who were you?”

Crowley continued walking. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you any more than what I just said. Her rules are absolute, like I mentioned. I could have just told you the entire story, honestly, but,” He gritted his teeth. “It would cause you pain, and we would stumble further than we already have.”

“So in other words,” Aziraphale mumbled to himself. “I have to remember it myself.”

“Precisely. Annoyingly, may I add.”

“How do I remember something I have no memory of?” Aziraphale looked at him with troubled eyes. “Crowley, I have to hurry up! I’m sure I have made you wait long, already.”

“Oh, angel,” He took his angel’s hand. “I will wait for you, no matter what. I promise. So take your time; we have an entire lifetime.”

It came in small increments, as expected.

Sometimes, Aziraphale would pause what he was doing and stand in a trance, and would only get back to reality when Crowley tapped his shoulder and asked what was wrong. Aziraphale would look up at him with tears in his eyes, and he would breathe out a distant memory in a relieved sigh.

“She didn’t lie to you,” Aziraphale would say. Crowley would open his arms out for an embrace, and Aziraphale would sink into it with a happy skip. “You helped me a lot in Heaven, huh?”

“You were awkward,” Crowley recalled. “No one knew what to do with you.”

“I’m sure they still don’t know, up until now,” Aziraphale laughed.

The painful parts, like the trial and Crowley’s Fall, were remembered days before Adam’s birthday.

They were invited by Adam himself; he was turning twelve that year and had been such a good boy for the most of the year that Deidre decided to throw a party for him. Adam asked if he could invite some people from London, and Deidre figured there was no harm.

They were in Aziraphale’s bookshop when the boy called. Crowley was sitting on his favorite spot on the angel’s couch, with his legs crossed and a bourbon in hand. Too early for liquor, of course, but what were a few drops?

“I’ll be twelve soon!” Adam exclaimed over the phone, excited and happy. Aziraphale looked happy to hear from him. Crowley went to his side to listen in on the conversation. “Mum is throwing a party, and there will be cake and stuff, and she said it would be okay for me to invite some people, so I figured I should invite you and Mr. Crowley for it! Anathema and Newt and Brian and Pepper and Wensleydale will be there, of course, and Dog is full grown now!”

“Breathe, my boy, breathe,” Aziraphale reminded. Crowley chuckled as he listened on. “Of course we’ll be there, I promise.”

“Great!” Adam said. “Gifts aren’t required, but very well appreciated.” There was a pause. “_ Very. _”

It sounded a lot like the Antichrist, for a second. Crowley laughed.

“It would be completely untoward of us if we just came for cake without proper compensation now, would it,” Aziraphale said. Adam made a noise of approval. “No promises, but we’ll do something about it.”

Crowley made a face. It meant shopping, of course. Aziraphale and shopping were two things that should never coincide, ever again.

“Great!” Adam said, again. “_Don’t forget, _ okay? _ Remember, _ 3 in the afternoon!”

Crowley took note of it mentally. Beside him, Aziraphale suddenly dropped the handset.

Crowley caught it in a swift motion. He was looking over at Aziraphale, who was in a complete standstill, when he said, “We’ll be there, Adam, you hear me? I promise.”

“Okay! Goodbye, Mr. Crowley!”

As soon as he put the handset down, he turned to Aziraphale. He looked pale and afraid, and he was shaking very slightly.

On the very few times the angel went into a trance, he never showed any emotion. Crowley embraced him tightly throughout, until Aziraphale started sniffing.

“What do you remember?”

“There was… a trial. The Archangels stood before us; we were in chains. Y-You fell,” Aziraphale cried out. “Y-you lied to everyone, and you fell, Crowley. For me. To save me. And I forgot everything.”

“I’m sorry,” Crowley held him tighter. “I don’t think I apologized for that, yet.”

“No, no,” Aziraphale pushed away from the hug to look at him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to save both of us from it.”

“There was no other way,” Crowley explained. “We were going to forget, both of us, and if I didn’t do anything, we wouldn’t have this chance at all.” It was the only way to preserve what they had, if one of them remembered, at least. “I’m so sorry, my angel.”

“I’ve prayed a lot during my stay here in Earth, you know,” Aziraphale said. “I told Her my doubts, my woes. She hardly answered, and that was to be expected. She only talked to me when She needed something from me, and I get that. The Almighty is very busy. But every time I talked to Her about you,” He held both of Crowley’s hands. “She answered in her own mysterious ways. In weather, in grand gestures.”

Crowley was shaking.

“I think She never wanted you to fall,” Aziraphale said. “I remember the trial quite clearly, you know. I remember all other trials. She never presided over them directly, and never told angels what She told you.”

“I will always be with you,” Crowley quoted.

Aziraphale nodded.

“Are you okay?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale massaged his temple with a pained expression. “We can sleep until Adam’s birthday, if you wish.”

“That would be sloth, Crowley,” The angel chided. “But a very good attempt. I’ll be fine, my love.”

_My love_, Crowley turned red at that. “Rest at least, angel. Please, for my sake.”

Aziraphale reached for his sleeve and tugged slightly. “Join me? I sleep better with you by my side, I’m afraid.”

Crowley stepped closer and wiped the angel’s eyes clean. He pressed a sweet kiss on his cheek and mumbled, “You’re better in temptation than I am, sweetheart.”

One thing was clear: Aziraphale didn’t remember the ex-Archangel’s name yet.

It didn’t bother him much, but Crowley knew that was the puzzle missing to finish the entire piece. His name would complete his memories, and maybe Aziraphale would finally remember why he fell in the first place. (A night of passion in Alpha Centauri. And to think he wanted to bring him there again.)

The drive to Tadfield was filled with Tchaikovsky and Beethoven. When the first few bars of Tchaikovsky’s “Love of My Life” started playing, Crowley was amused to find Aziraphale humming along.

“What,” Crowley looked at Aziraphale in complete shock. “How do you know this song?” He almost hit a woman riding a bicycle by the side of the road.

“Crowley, watch the road, please!” Aziraphale grabbed on to whatever he could to steady himself. “Goodness me, you still go too fast for my taste, dear.” 

“You didn’t answer the question,” Crowley mumbled, never taking his gaze on him. He’ll show him too fast later.

“We do drive quite a bit in London,” Aziraphale replied. “The lyrics are lovely. Never knew Tchaikovsky had it in him, honestly.”

“One way of putting it, yeah,” Crowley agreed. He turned his gaze back on the road, and Aziraphaled sighed relief. “Car, drive yourself for a bit.” He let go of the steering wheel so suddenly, but the Bentley hardly swerved. 

“C-crowley?” Aziraphale was looking alternately at the road and his lover. “Crowley, dearest, the car?”

“He’ll be fine, he does this all the time,” Crowley inched closer and grinned. “Love of my life, don’t leave me…”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “Is this all necessary?”

“You’ve stolen my heart, you now desert me,” Crowley crooned, kissing Aziraphale’s knuckles tenderly. “Love of my life, can’t you see?”

“Crowley, for the love of all that is holy and just—”

“Bring it back, bring it back…” He began kissing Aziraphale’s neck with much gusto.

“If we get discorporated because of your antics, we won’t be able to get our bodies back without the Almighty—”

“Don’t take it away from me because…” Loosening Aziraphale’s bowtie, now.

“and paperwork means going back to our realms and they already_ hate _ us, my love, don’t you remember—”

“You don’t know what it means to me.” Biting his chin.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped out. “This is so indecent!”

“My expertise,” Crowley grinned. “Damnation has its perks, truly.”

“Ahem,” a familiar voice said, and the two turn their gaze at the window, with Aziraphale arching his head back and Crowley peeking up. “Might want to tint your car soon if you’ll be visiting Tadfield quite often. I think the Neighborhood Watch would be very… scandalized if they saw this in broad daylight. Also, how old are you?”

“Anathema!” Aziraphale exclaimed happily, pushing Crowley off him. Crowley let out an audible ‘tsk’. He snapped himself into decency and went out of the Bentley to greet Anathema and Newt properly.

“Oh Lord, will I die of blue balls?” Crowley mock-prayed, with his hands together for added effect. “It’s been six thousand years since we last F-worded.”

“Six thousand years?” Newt repeated, letting out an incredulous gasp.

Aziraphale let out a nervous laughter. “He jests! You know him, silly snake. Hyperboles and all that!”

“_Feels _ like six thousand years,” Crowley mumbled, stepping out of the Bentley. “You did good, Car. We need to work on your corners, but otherwise good, yeah?”

“Why is he talking to his car?” Anathema asked. Aziraphale only sighed in response.

Adam’s party was held in the garden, and Crowley only scowled at the sorry state of the plants.

There was a table laid for them, and the spread was simple enough: tea biscuits, sandwiches, and in the middle, a modest cake adorned with M&M’s. Aziraphale found it all to be quite charming. Crowley thought it needed a little spicing up.

“Crowley, no,” Aziraphale reprimanded. “His mother worked very hard on it. I’m sure he’s very contented with what they have.”

“He saved the world,” Crowley reasoned out. “I don’t get why we shouldn’t be celebrating more. It’s all thanks to him, after all.”

“But he looks so happy already,” Aziraphale pointed out, and… well, Crowley missed that entirely.

Crowley snapped anyway, and in his hands appeared a gift wrapped in black with a huge gold bow. “Adam,” Crowley called out, and Adam turned to them and beamed excitedly. Behind him, his parents eyed the gift warily.

“_You remembered_!” Adam said.

Suddenly, Aziraphale stilled. Crowley eyed him cautiously, but managed to find a way to take the attention back to him. “Don’t shake it. Why don’t you get your gang and see what it is?”

“Thank you!” Adam ran with the box above him and said, “Guys, lookit! Brian, wipe your hands first, then let’s go!” The whole party gathered around the present, and Adam excitedly showed his new consoles. Crowley knew it was a bit too much, and his parents would be absolutely cross at him for it, but who cares at this point?

When they were alone again, Crowley managed to have Aziraphale sit on one of the wooden chairs as he stared at nothing. He kneeled in front of him and cupped his cheeks. “Angel?”

Aziraphale blinked, his eyes refocusing. Then, he smiled.

“Raphael,” He said out loud, looking at Crowley with all the love he could muster. “You were Archangel Raphael, the patron of healing.”

He didn’t expect the relieved tears. “Yes,” He nodded, dropping his hands. “I was.”

“You kissed me in the middle of the Universe.”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale blushed, then. “Alpha Centauri.”

“Yes,” Crowley laughed despite the tears. “She made it the first time I prayed for you. It is ours.”

“Adam, he,” Aziraphale turned to look at the Antichrist fondly. “He’s been commanding me, somehow. During the phone call, he said…”

Crowley recalled: _ Don’t forget, _ he said. _ Remember! _

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale pressed his forehead on Crowley’s. “Will you share your memories with me, somehow?”

“Before I fell?” Crowley asked.

“Everything you can give,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t want to miss anything anymore.”

Crowley stood up. “Later, I think,” He mused. “I want to savor this moment a bit more. Let’s have fun, it’s the kid’s birthday, for someone’s sake.” He held out a hand, and Aziraphale used it to pull himself up. On the table, Deidre was cutting up the cake. “They’re serving the cake, now. I’m pretty sure it’s the best cake Deidre has ever made.”

“What have you done?” Aziraphale asked in mock horror.

“Devil’s food cake, cream cheese frosting. And M&M’s, the usual.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary, then,” Aziraphale shrugged.

“Recipe from The Ritz’ Head Pâtissière.”

“Hmm,” The angel mused. “Better make the cake bigger, then.” He snapped.

“Definitely,” Crowley nodded. “They’ll give away leftovers. We’ll take some home.”

“Where is home, exactly?” Aziraphale asked, taking a step forward.

“Anywhere,” Crowley replied with complete confidence. “As long as it’s with you.”

Aziraphale never let go of his hand. Crowley refused to let him, anyway.

“Truly, was he made for me?” Crowley asked one day before entering Aziraphale’s bookshop, when the skies were dark and the rain threatened to fall. In a blink of an eye, the clouds over the entirety of Soho dissipated, and the sun shone bright over the bookstore’s display windows. The demon slaps his palm on his mouth in fear of creating a ruckus on the streets.

Inside, Aziraphale looked up the sky with a thankful smile. He caught Crowley’s gaze, and waved at him happily.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Crowley shrugged, smug. From afar, he heard a series of thunderclaps, and it sounded suspiciously like laughter.

_end_


End file.
